Before the Shadows
by Hispaniola'sCaptain
Summary: An Aladdin prequel about Jafar; his life before his turned evil. He comes to the palace as the new vizier, determined to fix his poor country & meets someone special along the way. Rating may or may not eventually go up a notch. Disney owns all the characters except Anjum (my own invention). Told from both Jafar's & Anjum's POV. First published fanfic. Please review. Hope you enjoy
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: As I said in the summary, this is Jafar's story about his life before he turned evil. It is told partially from his POV, and partially from the POV of Anjum, the woman who sets him on the path that we all know about. I know it starts a little slow, for which I'm sorry, but any review would be a ginormous (giant+enormous) help. The story picks up speed in the next couple of chapters and will continue to do so. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy. **_

_**Chapter 1**_

_Anjum_

She had worked in the palace repository since she was seven. At twenty-two, she was the head of the repository in all but name. After all, a female would never be trusted with such an important position; not officially, at any rate. Anjum had learned at her mother's knee how to read Arabic, Egyptian and Chinese, as well as how to mend books and preserve scrolls. Now, she spent her days translating foreign texts, caring for cracked parchment, and bringing the repository catalogue up to date. There was no finer library in the civilized world, though the new library in the Egyptian port city of Alexandria was rumored to be quickly catching up.

After the doors of the repository closed each night and the official Head had tottered off to bed, Anjum unbound the silk scarf she used to cover her head and keep her hair out of the way as she worked, and brought down a book to study. She rarely went to bed before the third hour after midnight, and was always up with the dawn. Anjum had followed this routine since her she was nine, when her mother died. At first to keep the grief at bay, it had quickly morphed into a way to survive. She was valuable to the repository because she knew so very much about the books it housed. She was able to recommend codices of law to lawyers and judges. She could cite winning arguments to traveling philosophers. When a mysterious plague swept through Agrabah six years ago, she was able to provide the frantic doctors with the medicine texts that had resulted in a cure.

Anjum was working carefully to reillumine the faded illustrations of an old treatise on botany when a petulant yell split the otherwise peaceful morning air. She groaned to herself. How had the Princess Jasmine escaped from her nurses and wound up in the repository? At five years of age, Jasmine could go from adorable to irksome in less time than it took to cough. She was also hideously destructive when she was in the middle of a temper tantrum. Anjum raced out from behind her desk, prepared to wrestle a manuscript from the volatile child, when the girl came into view, in the arms of her father.

The tiny Sultan, who just came up to Anjum's chin, had become useless as a ruler ever since his daughter had been born, killing her mother in childbirth. He dedicated all of his attention to her, spoiling her rotten. Anjum was furious about this. The birth of the princess had marked a sudden downhill slide of the kingdom. What had once been a prosperous land was now marked by severe socio-economic problems. The mortality rate had spiked due to a breakage of various public hygiene works. But all the Sultan cared about was his daughter, a smaller, chubbier version of her mother.

"Sultan," Anjum breathed, trying to control her temper. She wouldn't be able to protect her precious books if she were beheaded after all. "Sultan, why…may I ask…have you…_honored us…_with your presence?" The Sultan peered at her.

"Ansum, I needed to show our new vizier the repository. He will need a great deal of access to it after all."

"I seeeeeee," she grated, trying to ignore the hollers of the monkey-child in the Sultan's arms. "Well, I shall certainly be happy to assist the new vizier." The Sultan looked at her in surprise.

"Oh, my, my dear child, the vizier will need the expertise of the Head of the Repository, not a page-painter." Anjum almost screamed in fury. Not only had the old man forgone his kingdom for the sake of his mewling daughter, he paid no attention to what went on inside his own palace. _Everyone _knew to come to her, Anjum, not Ansum, not the withered old Head, for help in the Repository. Clenching her hands into fists to keep from strangling her ruler, nails biting deep into her palms, she bowed.

"Of course, my lord." The Sultan smiled cheerily at her, and Jasmine let out another yell.

"Oh, oh. She needs a nap," the Sultan whispered confidentially to Anjum. "I'll send the new vizier down here in about an hour. Please take him to the Head of the Repository." The one-track minded Sultan moved off, bouncing his shrieking child in his arms.

"Sultan," Anjum forced herself to call out.

"Oh, yes?" He turned. "What is it, Ablum?" Sucking her breath in through clenched teeth, Anjum asked "The new vizier, sir, what is his name?"

"Oh, that." The Sultan turned to leave again. "His name is Jafar."


	2. Chapter 2The New Vizier

**Chapter 2**

_Anjum_

About an hour and a half after the Sultan had unknowingly infuriated Anjum, a long shadow fell across her desk as she worked lovingly over the manuscript. Carefully, she set her brushes down, cautious that she did not drip ink, or smear the manuscript with her sleeve. Then she looked up at the tall figure standing over her. The man was leanly muscled, with the look of a runner. His face, while not handsome in the conventional sense, was arresting, and certainly pleasant enough.

"Can I help you?" she asked, sliding the façade of pleasant assistant over her face.

"You certainly can," the man said bowing slightly from the waist. Anjum started. The man had a low, thrilling voice, a voice that could be listened to for hours on end. "My name is Jafar."

"Ah, of course." Anjum swiftly regained her composure. "Then you are looking for the Head of the Repository, I take it?" Jafar's eyebrows knitted together in a very reasonable facsimile of confusion.

"But, I was under the impression that I was already addressing her," he said blinking his black eyes wide in false innocence. Anjum couldn't help it, and let out a low laugh, bending her head in acknowledgement. Her pent up anger at the near sighted Sultan slipped away as she confronted his new vizier. A droll sense of humor was usually accompanied by a keen mind. Perhaps the Sultan was aware, how he had let things slide, and brought this man in to clean up his mess. Anjum snorted to herself. A pity that that was the most responsibility the Sultan would take.

She closed the box she kept her ink powders in and stood up. Looking up at the new viziers face she beckoned.

"Come along. I'll show you where everything is."

_Jafar_

"She's positively tiny!" he thought to himself as he followed the de facto Head. He had enough sense to sound out who actually was in control in all sections of the Sultan's palace, but this woman had surprised him. He had met women before who had quietly (and not so quietly) assumed leadership. But this woman seemed barely more than a girl. No, he frowned to himself; no-one could think she is a child, for all her lack of size. There was a fire that burned behind her eyes, even when working over a text, which made him go quite weak in the knees. Her skin was pale from working indoors all day, with delicately shaped hands that fit perfectly around the brush she had been using. He guessed she was slender, from the firmness of her chin and cheekbones, and the straightness of her wrists, peeping coyly out from under her sleeves… He bit his cheek hard to bring his mind back to focus. He nodded as she pointed to where to medical texts were, just beyond the theological section. She turned her head, and those magnificent eyes swept over him again. For it was in her eyes that the majority of her beauty lay. Almond shaped, but an exotic blue, rather than the brown or black Jafar was accustomed to seeing every day. He wondered where such a blue had come from, a dark blue that one only sees for a moment between the red of sunset and the gray of evening. He bit his cheek again as they walked past the shelves supporting books of poetry. He had a job to do, and he didn't need to be distracted…from his job…tiny though she was, she certainly walked like a woman.

"Damn!" he swore quietly to himself. He had a chance to turn the kingdom around, he needed to concentrate. To his chagrin, he realized she'd heard him. Her head snapped back, eyes glittering.

"What was that?" she asked coolly.

"I beg your pardon," he replied shamefacedly. "I- I was distracted by the books," he waved one hand vaguely over his shoulder. "As I have so much to do, I was annoyed that I had …allowed myself…to become distracted." She peered up at him, and then nodded.

"I know what you mean. Sometimes it is hard not to be pulled from one's appointed task by another book." She looked carefully up at him again, and then asked "So, you like poetry, do you?"

"Ah-h-h," Jafar stammered. He wanted to tell her yes, certainly, he adored poetry, but he faltered before the blue fire springing from her eyes. "No," he said suddenly. Her eyebrows quirked upward in confusion. "I was simply wondering whether your music texts were with the poetry or mathematics," he blurted. She seemed pleased by the question.

"Actually, both. Music related texts lie between poetry and mathematics, just as it does in real life," she said turning back to show him the way. "Do you write music?"

"Some," Jafar admitted, surprising himself with his honesty. "However, most of what I write is fairly terrible. I generally stick to playing."

"Oh, what do you play?" the woman asked politely.

"Mizmar," he replied, naming a single-reed flute-like instrument.

"Hmmm," was her noncommittal response. Jafar ground his teeth together. Why should it matter what this person, what this _woman, _thought of him? He was far too busy to try and be everyone's favorite person. However…the Head of the Repository was a very important person, and the person who was actually in charge even more so. He should, of course cultivate her friendship. It made good sense. Yes, of course, he smiled broadly to himself, to made perfect sense to spend time with this woman…this woman whose name he didn't even know!

By now they were at the very back of the Repository, surrounded by volumes of military history. The woman turned to face Jafar.

"Well, that's the basic layout," she said, spreading her hands to indicate the whole of the Repository. "Texts are arranged within their various sections by country, the year of publication, then author. Not too difficult, if you know what you're looking for." She smiled slightly as she turned away. Jafar was immensely grateful she had turned so she wouldn't she the surprised delight flash across his face. Her face, slightly too wide in the cheekbone and slightly too narrow (albeit, well shaped) in the mouth, was transformed when she smiled to one of unquestionable blinding beauty. Jafar's breath caught as she once again began to walk away from him. _Her name. _He had to know what it was. He hastily lengthened his step so that he was next to her.  
"What do they call you?" he asked. Her eyes darted upward. In surprise? Anger?

"Anjum," she said, once more looking straight ahead. "My name is Anjum."

Jafar nodded. " 'Star'. It fits you." To his shock, Anjum stiffened, and then hurried off to her desk.


	3. Chapter 3Night In The Repository

**Chapter 3**

_Jafar_

Mortified by Anjum's reaction, Jafar slowed to a halt. What could he have said? Obviously she was furious for some reason, but for the life of him, Jafar couldn't think why. A slow flush crept up his narrow cheeks as he realized he would have to pass by her desk to exit the Repository. _Maybe she's not there,_ a hopeful little voice pointed out. _She could be anywhere in here, not just at her desk. _Besides, he reminded himself, he was the vizier. He shouldn't have to creep around the Repository lest he run into Anjum again. Straightening his shoulders, he walked towards the door of the Repository, past Anjum's desk…which was as she had left it. Thankful, Jafar left the Repository.

_Anjum_

She hadn't meant to run away like that. But the vizier's comment caught her completely off guard. For some reason, Anjum felt if she had responded she would have crossed some kind of threshold. So instead she ran.

She moved into one of the storage rooms, blessedly empty to catch her breath. As she did, she started to pace, annoyed with herself.

"Never, in all these _years,_" she hissed to herself, "have I run away from…well, from anything!" She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, still pacing. Suddenly she stopped as a thought hit her like a bolt of lightning. "He'll think I'm such a fool," Anjum whispered, mortified. She sunk her head into her hands. Who knows? Perhaps he could have helped her become the actual, official Head. Well, not anymore.

She groaned into her palms. Why, why, _why _had she run away? _I probably ruined my credibility with the vizier, _she thought miserably. Not that it would stay that way for long. All the vizier had to do was ask anyone, and he would hear all about how important to the Repository she was. How valuable as a source. How talented at finding just the right text… Anjum straightened her shoulders. Her credibility was _not _ruined. If that vizier wanted to nose around, she could always claim a sudden, short illness had caused her to dash off. Anjum nodded to herself. There was no use in getting so upset over such a minor thing. After all, there was work to be done. Her Repository needed her.

_That Night- Anjum_

She moved silently through the aisles, her hair flowing down around her face. She had been part way through a treatise on architecture the night before. _Where is it? _ People were forever rearranging the books, to Anjum's great annoyance. _Ah! There it is! _She took down the scroll, running her fingers along the soft papyrus paper. Holding the scroll gently, she turned to go back to her room at the back of the Repository.

As she turned she suddenly heard one of the large doors at the front of the room slide being pushed open. Anjum turned in surprise. Who could that be at this hour? Her surprise quickly hardened. _Nobody _had any business being here at this time of night. Raising her oil lamp higher, she set off for the front of the room, and then changed direction as she heard soft footsteps. Her light cast flickering shadows before her, teasingly pointing the way. She turned once more…into the agriculture section? But there was the intruder, bent over an open scroll, hastily jotting notes on a scrap of parchment.

"The Repository is closed for the night," Anjum said clearly. The figure in front of her jumped at the sound of her voice, then straightened and turned to face her.

_Jafar_

She must walk like a cat, to have come upon him unawares. He turned, sheepish at being surprised, a mild apology on his lips…but the sound died in his throat. The lamp in her hand cast a golden tinge to her pale skin, and the light reflected gloriously off a black river cascading down her shoulders. Her vibrant eyes held all the firmness of an empress. Jafar laughed quietly at the thought, for she was the empress of her realm. Her look changed to puzzlement.

"What is so amusing?"

"A passing thought," Jafar replied, smoothly for once. "You are right. I am here after hours, but I had need." He gestured at the paper behind him. "Production records of the last ten years."

"I see," Anjum said. "And you couldn't have gotten this earlier because of why?" She tilted her head, causing her hair to shift with the sound of whispering silk. Jafar momentarily wondered if the hair was as soft as it looked.

"I didn't know I needed it earlier," he said, bringing himself back to reality. "I do my best work at night." Then he froze, hoping his statement hadn't sounded too much like an innuendo. But it must not have, for Anjum was nodding in agreement.

"I understand," she said, "but that's no excuse. In the future, plan what you need, and give me a list. I'll have the texts sent to you." Then she pointed to the scroll he had been using. "Are you done with that yet?"  
"No, I-"

"Then you may as well borrow it for now. Do try to return it by tomorrow. I don't generally let my books go wandering." She held her light higher, watching as Jafar marked his place and rewound the scroll. He turned his back, but he was sure he could still feel her gaze, piercing him somewhere between the shoulder blades. He swallowed, and turned again to meet the strong gaze of Anjum's gem-like eyes. She gestured behind toward the large main doors.

"I'll walk you out." Jafar bowed in gratitude and lifted his own oil lamp. They walked silently toward the doors, Jafar wrestling with the question if he should mention his accidental insult earlier. He sighed quietly. An apology certainly wouldn't hurt to smooth things over. It appeared Anjum could be very helpful when she wasn't angry. _Helpful with the books, _he told himself firmly. _She's not a slave to use. Get yourself together. _Jafar cleared his throat.

"Anjum, about earlier…" He saw her shoulders tighten, the deliberately relax.

"Yes?" She sounded guarded, but not angry. Encouraged, Jafar continued.

"I'm sorry. I don't know how I managed to insult you, but-"

"Insult?" she asked incredulously, swinging around to face him. "You didn't insult me."

"I didn't?" Jafar was amazed. "But when you left, I looked…"

"Yes, I, ah, was taken by a momentary sickness." Anjum interrupted hastily. "Fortunately all is well, but you know how it can be." Her clear eyes flickered momentarily to the side, and Jafar knew she was lying. He always knew when somebody lied to him.

"You're quite sure I didn't anger you in some way?" he asked gently, half fearing her response. But she shocked him again, favoring him with another slight smile.

"I'm certain," she said just as gently. She jerked her head. "Let's go. We both need to get back to work." They started walking again.

"Work? What do you have to do at this time of night?" Jafar was honestly curious.

"I read," Anjum said calmly, then let another tiny smile escape. "Perhaps 'work' is not quite the correct term. I spend my nights reading, partially for pleasure, partially to become familiar with the books I take care of."

"And that's how you know everything about this place, isn't it?" Anjum laughed softly.

"It is indeed, good vizier. But," she said, pausing in front of the slightly open door, "here is where we part for the night." Jafar slid through the opening, then looked back over his shoulder, one long fingered hand still grasping the door.

"Good night. And if it's not inappropriate of me….you have very beautiful hair." He caught a glimpse of her shocked face, one hand springing to her hair, before he closed the door behind him. He smiled slightly to himself as he set back towards his chambers. All in all, it hadn't been a bad night.


	4. Chapter 4Being Remembered

**A/N: I'm very grateful to those of you who are reading this far. It really means a lot to me that you're taking time to read what I've written. But I feel I should warn you: this next chapter is long and mostly Anjum's POV. If you're waiting for other "Aladdin" characters besides Jafar, the Sultan and a kid Jasmine, the Genie will be making an appearance soon. Please review! Thanks. **

**Chapter 4**

_Anjum- Three Weeks Later_

"Hassan, do you have all the books on the vizier's list?"

"Of course, Anjum. They're on your desk," one of Anjum's many assistants replied. "But I'm afraid I cannot take them up to him today." Anjum sighed.

"Yes, you told me this morning. Go take care of your mother. I hope the burdock poultice we made helps her throw off the infection."

Hassan nodded fervently as he walked swiftly out of the Repository. Anjum cast her eye at the sundial. Another half hour until she closed the Repository. Surely the vizier could wait until then… But what if a half hour made the difference between completing his new bill tonight instead of tomorrow? A single day could make such a difference. Anjum sighed again, thinking of the sad state to which her poor country had fallen. Any change could only be a positive one, and the new vizier seemed bent on bringing about as many changes as possible. Making up her mind, Anjum beckoned to another of her assistants.

"Ithar, I want you to close the Repository tonight." Ithar's large brown eyes went even larger with excitement.

"Really, Anjum?" the girl asked eagerly. Anjum laughed, patting Ithar's cheek.

"Yes, I want to make sure you know how to do it properly."

"Ohhhh, thank you Anjum!" Ithar breathed, racing off. Anjum walked swiftly over to her desk to retrieve the bag of scrolls the vizier needed for this night's work. She then set out for the vizier's office with her precious burden.

The vizier's office, she knew, was on the second floor of the palace, directly above the throne room. She'd looked over the architectural plans of the palace and knew it could be reached from a passage behind the throne room. But she had never been to the office before. The old vizier had been just that: old, and had never called for anything from the Repository. Anjum was very curious about what the vizier's office looked like. It had been a long time since she'd left the Repository, Anjum suddenly realized.

She ran one hand along the smooth marble banister as she walked up the stairs. Her eyes were flickering from side to side, enjoying painted murals and colorful mosaics that she hadn't seen in years. Her reverie was broken as a squeaky tenor voice laced though the air.

"Answum!"

_Oh no,_ Anjum thought closing her eyes. _Keep your temper, keep your temper, keep your temper,_ she chanted silently to herself as she bowed low before her negligent Sultan.

"What are you doing up here, Anclun?" the Sultan asked curiously. "I don't think I've ever seen you outside the Repository."

With a silent apology to Hassan for her rudeness, Anjum replied, "You are correct, sire. I rarely leave the Repository. However, my errand-runner had to go to his parents' home today to care for his ill mother. Therefore, I decided to deliver these texts to the vizier myself."

"Ahh, yes, splendid!" the Sultan exclaimed happily. "I am quite pleased with Jafar; he really seems to know what he's doing." Anjum wasn't sure how to respond to this without getting herself beheaded. But the Sultan didn't mind. He bounced backwards on the balls of his feet, his round face lighting up. "Oho! Why, Jafar, we were just talking about you!'' Anjum looked over her shoulder, and found herself face to face with…the new vizier's sternum. She fought the urge to take a step backward because she knew if she did she would undoubtedly step on the Sultan. And she also knew that wouldn't end well for her. So she stood, stiffly sandwiched between the two men.

"Were you?" The vizier's silky voice sounded pleased as he courteously stepped back. Anjum smiled at him in a silent "thank you". She noticed his long hands twitch convulsively as she looked back down at the Sultan. _Does he have a condition? _she wondered idly.

"Oh yes," the Sultan twittered. "She said she had to deliver something to you." He looked past Anjum as if she weren't there. "So how are you getting on with the Repository Head?" Anjum felt her heart sink into her stomach. No matter how the vizier answered, she foresaw trouble for herself.

"The…official…Head," the vizier answered slowly, seeming to choose his words with care. "The official Head is a very pleasant gentleman," he said finally. The Sultan blinked his wide pale eyes in surprise.

"Why, Jafar, what do you mean by the _official _Head?"

"The gentleman is somewhat past his prime," the vizier said delicately. Anjum's heart was beating furiously in her chest. Her future, her very life, could hang on the Sultan's reaction to the vizier's words.

"But, the-the Repository has run smoothly for years!" the Sultan sputtered. He wheeled on Anjum. "Hasn't it?" he asked suddenly less sure of himself.

"I'm sure it has," the vizier said swiftly as Anjum opened her mouth to respond. Just as well. If anyone could help her, it was the vizier. Anjum knew her hot temper would only land her in trouble. "However, I expect that for a number of years, the Head of the Repository has not been…up to…running the Repository. I have had ample opportunity to observe the Repository. People go to Anjum for help." The vizier gestured to her with one of his long fingered hands. _No twitch this time,_ a small voice noted irrelevantly.

"She knows the Repository and every book within like the back of her own hand."

_Better!_

"She also appears to have mastered every craft and language the head of such an important library must know."

_Of course I have! _Anjum bit her lip to keep from yelling or laughing, she wasn't sure which. The vizier was certainly doing a fine job of pleading her case without appearing to do so. She had to remember to thank him later, assuming of course she wasn't banished. Or dead. But the Sultan, plucking at his lip nervously, was nodding.

"Well, dear me, it certainly is…unorthodox." He peered up at Anjum. "Well, well, Anjum, do you feel you are up to being the Head? Jafar here has certainly provided you an excellent reference." Suddenly numb, Anjum nodded. It couldn't be possible…but it seemed she might be made the Head of her beloved Repository. It was impossible! Absolutely impossible. Though a haze, she saw the Sultan beam up at the vizier.

"Well, I'll leave it up to you to get Aflum here established. And do be kind to the old Head. He has been very faithful. Yes, yes," the Sultan chortled to himself as he walked away, "highly unorthodox, but I leave it up to you, Jafar!"

Anjum slowly revolved to face the vizier. Forcing her lips apart, she croaked, "Am I…am I to be the Head? Truly?"

"It appears so," the vizier answered. Joy suffused every inch of her body. She hadn't thought it would be possible. She thought she would dedicate her life to the Repository, and then fade out of memory, all her love and care forgotten. But, not so! Oh, her name would be inscribed in gold with the names of all the other Heads. She suddenly felt giddy.

"I think…I think I should sit down," she breathed.

"Of course, my office is just here." She took a step, half blind with joy and stumbled. She felt one of the vizier's hands close about her elbow, gently guiding her. The distance to the office might have been two steps or a mile. Anjum was too distracted by her inner rejoicing to notice anything about the outside world. She felt herself being lowered into a chair, and then a goblet pressing against her lips. Blinking in confusion, she realized the vizier was holding a cupful of wine for her to drink.

"What is this for?" she asked, slowly letting go of her euphoria and coming back to reality.

"You looked like you were about to faint," the vizier said in a worried voice. Anjum laughed quietly, then louder, reveling in the release of her exuberant feeling. She noticed the vizier looked highly concerned.

"Don't worry. I'm not hysterical and I'm not going to faint." She laughed again. "I will, however take a drink of that if you are still offering." Wordlessly the vizier held out the goblet again and Anjum took a deep swallow.

"If I may ask," the vizier said cautiously, "why does becoming the Head mean so much to you?" Anjum tilted her head to one side as she thought.

"It means I'll be remembered. Everything I do for the Repository, the people who need it…I would still do. But knowing that I'll be remembered for doing what I love…it's almost intoxicating." A shiver ran down Anjum's back at the look in the vizier's eyes. They reflected understanding and… anger? "Besides," Anjum said lightly, trying to ignore the vizier's expression, "this means I'll be the first woman to officially hold a position of importance." She gasped quietly as the vizier's face turned hard.

"Yes, to be remembered for all your hard work…I can see why you're so excited." Anjum stared into his stony face.

"What's wrong?" Anjum asked gently. The vizier walked slowly across his office, staring into an hourglass.

"I know how people outside the palace think." His thick voice was low, almost dangerous. "I know what they need and who…who they blame." His slender hands balled up into sudden fists at his sides. "The people need coin, they need food, they need everything. If one good thing happens, the Sultan is praised. If one normal unfortunate day goes by," he turned back to Anjum, black eyes glittering, "they blame the vizier."

"You want to be remembered for helping the people?" Anjum guessed.

"I want to not be hated for trying to save them all!" the vizier hissed. Finally understanding, Anjum calmly stood and handed him the half full goblet.

"Drink," was all she said. When the vizier stared at her uncomprehendingly, she pointed silently to the goblet. She waited until he had emptied it before she spoke again. "To start with, anger won't get you anywhere. If you do things when angry the results will be worse than whatever had initially infuriated you. Second of all, as you aren't going to be Sultan anytime soon, you can make yourself visible to the people. Show them that you're trying to help. A few proclamations from 'the Royal Vizier' wouldn't hurt," she said thoughtfully," especially if they have quick results as well as long term." The vizier looked at her for a low moment, then bowed low before her.

"You really do have an answer for every question." He straightened from his bow. "If you don't have anything pressing you need to take care of, would you mind dining with me tonight? I have a number of ideas that I would like your opinion about." Anjum's mind flitted to the book waiting for her downstairs, a lecture on sorcery. Then, surprising herself, she pushed the book from her mind.

"Of course," she smiled. She noticed the vizier's hands twitch again.


	5. Chapter 5A Fateful Evening

**A/N: So I told you all the Genie would be making an appearance soon, right? Well, so is Iago…although not quite in form that you are all familiar with. Don't worry, the annoying parrot is on his way!**

**Chapter 5**

_Jafar_

_He was running down a long alleyway strewn with garbage. It kept tripping him up and each time he fell he glanced over his shoulder, terrified. His pursuer never quite caught him but was always just a step behind, screaming and cursing. But it wasn't his pursuer who caused his flight. It was the vast shadow of a man behind the pursuer and the thin faced shrew the man called "wife". The runner tried to vault over a low wall, but slipped and fell to the ground in a crumpled heap. The boy felt large hands seize the back of his tunic and was hauled around._

"_You don't ever try and run from me again boy, d'you hear?" a low voice hissed. The runner twisted and turned, trying desperately to escape the grasp of the giant who held him. The giant's grasp only tightened as it raised a hand in the air. A long switch was in it's hand. The runner tried to scream, but his mouth wouldn't open. He could feel blood seeping down his back as the switch came whistling down for the first blow. The runner watched in wide eyed terror as—_

CRACK.

Jafar's eyes snapped open. He lay still for a moment, willing his heart to stop pounding. His gaze rolled over to the balcony attached to his room. Apparently a thunderstorm had brewed during the night, opening the day with jagged bolts of lightning.

Jafar was grateful to the weather's good timing. His parents still haunted his nightmares, though he never thought of them during the sunlit hours. Every dream was the same, but they never ceased to make him wrench awake, covered in sweat.

He slid out of his bed and walked out into the rain. It served to chase away the remnants of his dream and wake him up the rest of the way. Shivering, Jafar moved grab a drying cloth, then to check the calendar he had made. He had several audiences today with various merchants and tradesmen. Later in the day there was a banquet with a visiting dignitary. Jafar groaned quietly. The dignitary was a thoroughly unpleasant man whose country profited off of Agrabah's instability. Jafar shook his head, and set himself to preparing for the long day ahead.

The clouds had disappeared around noon, but the air still seemed to be filled with an ominous heaviness that had lasted into the evening. Jafar ignored the gloom, and swept into dining room, stealing himself for what lay ahead. Iago of Egypt had a caustic sense of humor, and always tried to turn any situation to his benefit. Master Diplomat Iago also was notorious for jumping viziers with treaties over the dinner table.

Iago's dark little eyes peered at Jafar over a large hooked nose. His red face cracked in a grin that could only be described as predatory. But Jafar was not the vizier for nothing.

"Good evening, Master Iago," Jafar said coolly, sliding into his waiting chair.

"Jafar," Iago squawked in reply, still smirking. Jafar mentally winced. How could a person have such a grating voice? "So, tell me, Jafar," Iago screeched, "who else I am to meet at this little dinner?" His beady eyes gleamed with barely suppressed mirth. Jafar felt his suspicion grow at that mirth. But as he had no proof that anything was wrong, Jafar pushed the feeling aside.

"Various members of the government, as well as-" Jafar's answer was cut off by a light female voice that made his heart stop.

"Good evening, gentlemen." Anjum, dressed in a robe of midnight blue that set off her eyes, walked to the dining table. Iago's eyes went very round for a moment, then traveled slowly up and down Anjum's form, an appreciative smile on his face. Jafar resisted the sudden urge to grab the other man by the throat.

"Well, this sure isn't the little princess," Iago said, leaning across the table. "So, who is she?"

"I can speak for myself," Anjum stated, politely, but with the flat look on her face that Jafar had come to understand meant she was internally seething. He could only assume she knew Iago's reputation, and was on the defensive of her country.

"Uh huh, I'll bet you can," Iago replied, his grating voice faintly tinged with mockery. "So, _who _are you?"

"The Head of the Repository," Anjum answered drawing herself up proudly, even as she gracefully lowered herself into her seat…the seat right next to Jafar. He shut his eyes for a moment. He _had _to learn not to be distracted by her presence, especially when he was working. When he opened his eyes, Iago was leaning even closer to Anjum.

"How did you manage that, exactly?" Iago asked, sounding honestly curious. "Let's face it, women don't really get to many jobs…or anything that means they have to leave the bedroom." Iago leaned back laughing raucously, as Anjum flushed, her face going even flatter. Jafar leaned across to the fat man, still laughing an awful wheezing laugh.

"She got the job because she was the best for it," Jafar said coldly, staring into the other man's beady eyes. "That's the new policy here…whoever's best gets the job." He smiled thinly at the now silent Iago. "I've noticed that system keeps things running much smoother, haven't you?"

Iago was saved from answering by the entrance of the Sultan, and his bratty daughter. Jafar's stomach dropped. It was bad enough that the Sultan was here. Jafar had a tough job ahead of him anyway, which was made even more difficult by the presence of the princess. Jafar knew he had his hands full, trying to make the Sultan look competent, fending off Iago's sly treaties, and making sure the little brat didn't accidentally do something that could have serious political repercussions.

Anjum turned her head slightly, catching Jafar's eye.

"I'll deal with the princess," she breathed. "You deal with the rude one."

"I thought you just said you would deal with the princess," Jafar muttered under his breath, and was rewarded by a small laugh.

As the Sultan settled himself into a chair, padded with a ridiculously large cushion so he could see eye to eye with his guests, Iago hoisted himself to his feet.

"Gentlemen," he said smugly, raising a goblet, "and lady, of course," indicating Anjum. "This is truly a great day. The day our countries join forces." The fog of premonition swept over Jafar again, but he raised his goblet with everyone else, and drank. The wine slid down his throat in a hard knot. Jafar assumed it was because he was wound so tightly. But to his horror, his chest, then his throat grew tighter and tighter. The goblet fell from his hand, hitting the floor with a clatter. His knees buckled as he struggled to take a breath, panic rising in him as his lungs screamed for air. He felt as though he was sinking into darkness, not able to breath, not able to unclench his limbs, his jaw so tight that he could feel his mouth filling with a copper-tasting fluid. _Blood, _he realized dimly. _I must be biting my tongue. _ He had the vague impression of Anjum swooping over him. But the last thing he heard before the blackness claimed him was Iago's self satisfied cawing laughter.


	6. Racing Against the Hourglasss

**A/N: To those of you who have reviewed, thank you so much! I've tried to take all of your advice to heart. To those of you who don't want to review, but made it these far, thank you too. A story would be nothing if it had no audience. A quick heads up, this chapter is a looong one, but hopefully you'll find it worthwhile. Enjoy! **

**Chapter Six**

_Anjum_

"Get a pair of bellows!" she commanded shortly, seeing how Jafar was struggling for breath. She leaned over him, probing at his tightened jaw, checking his pupils. It didn't have the marks of an epileptic seizure. As she swiftly examined the stiffened vizier, her mind was running the symptoms over and over. The only thing that fit what was before her was poison.

"Wolfsbane" she muttered darkly.

"What?" Iago squawked innocently.

"Wh-what did you say, Agrum?" the Sultan quavered, astonished by Jafar's sudden collapse. The princess didn't say anything; she was staring Jafar as though he was performing for her entertainment.

"I said wolfsbane," Anjum straightened, still intently observing Jafar. "He was poisoned."

"How do you know?" Iago asked, somewhat worriedly. Anjum ignored him, as a servant ran into the room with the bellows she had demanded. She showed the servant how to force the tip between Jafar's teeth and set him to pumping.

"We'll need to do this for several hours," she said to the servant. "I'll have someone brought to relieve you before your arms get too tired." She moved to leave the table but was halted by the Sultan's call.

"Wait, wait! How do you know he was poisoned? And how do you know so quickly that it was wolfsbane?" Fuming at the waste of precious seconds, Anjum turned.

"He seized up," she said shortly. "His lungs aren't moving, and he isn't foaming at the mouth. I need to check the antidote," Anjum stated calmly as she started to move to the door. "As long as we can get air into his lungs, we can hold the effects at bay, but we don't need to waste any time." She noted Iago's face as she moved swiftly to the door. For one blinding moment, terrible rage had shown on the Egyptian's face. It was obvious who was behind the poisoning. As long as Agrabah was in turmoil, Egypt profited. Jafar was proving to be worth his weight in gold to Agrabah, gold that Egypt was losing.

Her speed increased with each step until she was in a flat out run for the Repository. She knew she had a limited amount of time. The bellows would force air into Jafar's stilled lungs, but that would do no good if his heart stopped. She had to reach the medical room of the Repository, a mix of green house and laboratory where exotic medicine plants were grown.

Anjum sped into the Repository, startling people who were accustomed to seeing her walking sedately or behind a desk. She skidded into the medicine room, her skirts swirling around her feet, almost tripping her. But she wasn't sparing attention for anything other than the Chinese sumac growing by the wall. She paused only to snatch up a small bowl and a clean knife before she made her way over to the low, widespread tree. Underneath the tree was an ornate table holding a large vase containing dried gallnuts. The gallnuts were dried from a sticky substance that formed on the sumac's leaves, and were suspected to originate from a parasite.

Anjum shoved all thoughts and speculations of parasites from her mind. The best thing that had happened to her country since before Jasmine's mother died was upstairs dying. She had a job to do. Carefully she sliced a handful of the gallnuts into pieces that could easily be swallowed, then after a second thought sliced each bit in half. Anjum would have to force the pieces down Jafar's frozen throat, and the smaller the pieces were, the simpler her task would be.

She judged the pile of tiny pieces, then swept it into the bowl she had grabbed. Anjum cast a quick glance around the medicine room, trying to think if there was anything she had forgotten. But no helpful remedy sprang to mind, so she hastened out of the Repository, heading back towards the main banquet hall. The image of Jafar sliding into oblivion gave her fresh energy. She had never lost a patient since she had begun to study medicine, and Agrabah couldn't afford for her to lose this one.

There was a small cluster of anxious servants gathered just outside the door, all craning their necks, trying to see inside. One woman noticed Anjum and gave a small squeak of surprise, frantically pulling at the sleeve of a man next to her. The man turned his craggy face towards Anjum, and his eyes went wide.

"Will the vizier die?" the man asked her. Anjum shook her head, forcing the rising panic out of her mind.

"Not if I can help it," she said evenly. The man bowed low, followed swiftly by the other servants. She acknowledged their tribute, her mind already spinning to the task she had before her, and pushed the oversized door to the feast hall open. She was pleased to see that all unessential persons had cleared the room, and that there was a litter set up to transport Jafar as soon as Anjum gave her permission.

The servant who had brought the bellows had already been relieved. His replacement looked like he had been pulled from the blacksmith's shop, with arms and shoulders that looked like they belonged on a giant, not a mortal man. Anjum felt her breath catch in her throat as she observed the tableau before her. The man working the bellows seemed almost supernatural, with the gift of the vizier's life or death in his hands.

Anjum shook her head to clear her mind, and marched resolutely forward. That gift lay in her hands, and she intended the gift to be that of life. She paused when she reached the table and felt Jafar's pulse. Her heart plummeted, but then she felt a weak little flutter under her fingertips. Anjum allowed a brief smile to cross her face; Jafar's heart hadn't stopped and at the moment that was the most important thing. She spared a glance for the colossus manning the bellows.

"I'm going to have to force this down his throat," she told the man, indicating the bowl of gallnuts. "When I tell you, stop pumping and get the bellows out of his mouth. When I signal again, start pumping again." The man nodded silently, his forehead shining with sweat.

"Now!" Anjum's voice cracked like a whip. The bellows were out of Jafar's mouth and Anjum was forcing the gallnuts down his throat in less than a second. She felt the lump moving slowly, too, too slowly, downwards under her fingers. As soon as the lump passed the point of no return she signaled for the bellows to begin again. But to Anjum's horror, the tremulous fluttering didn't increase in strength. If anything, it seemed to grow even weaker. She rocked backwards, shocked. The man working the bellows looked at her in concern.

"What is wrong with him? Is the medicine not working?" he rasped anxiously. Anjum nodded mutely, hardly aware of the question. If course it would take some time for the gallnuts to take effect, but if Jafar's heart stopped before then, the gallnuts, the bellows, all of it, would serve no purpose. Her mind raced, almost desperately, trying to think if perhaps, unlikely though it was, perhaps there was something she had forgotten. Suddenly, a memory struck her like a bolt of lightning, a long buried image of blue smoke pouring into the mouth of a small lamp.

Furiously, Anjum tried to remember where she had seen it. Myths of djinn trapped in lamps were common, although few mortals ever actually come into contact with an enslaved jinni. Anjum knew she had been very young when she saw it, hiding behind…behind her mother! Yes, she must have been very young if her mother was there…but where?

Her eyes slid closed as she worked to remember the distant image. Slowly, pieces filled in, like a painting coming to life under the hands of an artist. The lamp had been on a shelf, in a cupboard, in an office…the Head of the Repository's office. This meant if it hadn't been moved, the jinni that could save Jafar's life was in her own office!

A tremor of hope quavered through her. As long as Jafar's kept beating, as long as she could find the lamp, then her patient, and all he represented, stood a chance of survival. She shot a quick look at the bellows man.

"Keep those bellows going," she ordered as she raced back out of the banquet hall. Once more she directed herself towards the Repository, but fear now fueled her steps. A wish made to a jinni could have vast consequences, but nothing could be done if she couldn't find the lamp. A black tendril of doubt slithered into Anjum's mind, riding the fear that was taking over her trained mind. What if the lamp was gone? What if the jinni had been freed from its prison? What if, what if, what if? Doubts began to swirl as Anjum burst through the vast doors of the Repository.

For the second time in less than half an hour, the patrons of the Repository was treated to the rare sight of the dignified Anjum pelting through the Repository, headless of the world around her. But this time, people cleared a path for her; news of the vizier's collapse had spread throughout the palace, and people understood that if anyone could save him, it was the new Head of the Repository. As Anjum sped by, people offered prayers to the various gods to which they knelt. Jafar had done so much for Agrabah and for the East in such a short period of time. Everyone understood what a tragedy it would be if he was lost.

Anjum skidded to a halt on the smooth tile mosaic floor of her office, the traditional office of the Repository Head. She looked frantically around, desperately trying to calm her mind, to remember where the lamp had been. The walls of her office were lined with shelves and cupboards. In her mind, an hourglass was trickling towards the inexorable conclusion of Jafar's life. Shaking her head in an effort to clear her mind, Anjum opened a cupboard at random. She tore through it, then another and another. Soon, all of the cupboards were hanging open, their contents littering the floor. Desperately, Anjum went back over each cupboard, fingers probing, hoping perhaps to find concealed drawers.

The upper bulb of her mental hourglass continued to empty.

One, two, three cupboards, and nothing. No helpful click, no hidden door swinging open. But in the cupboard directly behind her desk, in the uppermost left-hand corner was a little square of wood that didn't match the paneling around it. Hope clenched Anjum's throat as she raised her hand to the tiny square. It was so high that she had to stand on tiptoe to reach it. The square depressed at her touch and with a faint grinding the back wall of the cupboard swung open. There, on a dusty purple cloth rested the lamp, shining with its own light.

"Oh, please still be in there," Anjum breathed, reaching for the lamp. Gingerly, she rubbed its burnished surface with her hand. The lamp began to quiver, and multicolored smoked seethed from its mouth. The column of smoke grew and twisted until it reached the ceiling.

"Oh, baby, is good to be OUTTA THEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERE!"


End file.
